


A Hotel Room and a Blue Bottle

by lwm



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Graphic Description, wank!fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3109064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwm/pseuds/lwm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the tenth day of wank!fest may true love gave to me - another Ten?<br/>Tentoo and Rose went to up Loch Ness to have a relaxing getaway only to run into find Nessie a few Zygons running around. After a harrowing adventure, the Doctor finds himself a little too keyed up and in need of release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hotel Room and a Blue Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Silver for doing a quick beta.

Opening the mini fridge, the Doctor takes out a blue glass bottle of Ty Nant, deciding the expensive mineral water is worth it after the day he has had. He rubs a hand down his jaw, feeling the bristly prickle of stubble scrape along his palm. What was supposed to have been a quick retreat to Inverness before Christmas and Jackie Tyler’s infamous nut loaf has been ruined by the Loch Ness monster and a bunch of overzealous Zygons.

Swinging and rolling his arms, he tries to shake off the tingling, jittering feeling running up and down his arms -- the aftereffects of the adrenaline still wearing off—as he walks to the small seating area in front of the fireplace. Having already experienced this adventure before with Sarah Jane, he arrogantly assumed he knew exactly what to do. And he had. Until Rose wandered off and he found himself trapped in the middle of the loch with a boat load of tourists, two of whom had been Zygons. It had been unpleasant twist to an old story. _At least_ , he thinks, _I kept Nessie confined to the Loch this time._

With an exasperated sigh, he collapses onto a wingback chair, sinking into the worn hotel leather seat. Dealing with civilians -- trying to get them to listen, trying to keep them safe -- is harder than he remembers. A trip on a Midnight bus pops into his head and he opens the bottle with a violent twist of his wrist, tossing the cap onto the coffee table near a tub of Rose’s Vaseline cocoa butter. 

He takes a quick sip of water before slouching down on the chair and setting the bottle between his thighs. The tips of his fingers shift up the body of the bottle, coming to rest on the shoulders as his thumb presses up and down the neck. He closes his eyes and tries to slowly count his breaths in and out, in and out. Rose is good at helping him calm down after experiences like these where he becomes too acutely aware of his new mortality, of _their_ mortality. But she sent him back to their hotel room alone after he snapped at a new recruit who had been helping with the clean-up.

He raises a hand, a glint of light reflecting off his gold band, and rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. During their time apart, Rose has learned how to be better at dealing with consequences than him; better at staying and helping when all he wants to do is move on and not look back. A habit born from centuries of running and he’s had less than a biennium to try to break it.

The Doctor takes another swig of water as he remembers a conversation he and Rose had after another particularly daunting day that had left him jittery and on edge.

+++

“I feel like I could run five hundred miles and --”

“Run five hundred more?” Rose grinned, reaching up to loosen his tie. “Have you been listening to the Proclaimers again?” 

“They’re very good,” he defended, his nose brushing against hers as his hands rested on her hips to keep her close. “How do you normally deal with it, Rose?”       

“When I didn’t have you?” she asked, slipping his tie free. He hummed in reply. “Exercise, a long hot bath, or I--” She blushed, her tongue slipping out to lick her lips, and then suddenly turned out of his arms.  Moving in front of her vanity table, she tossed his tie to hang from the top of the mirror and then fiddled with her earrings.

The Doctor came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Or you?” He rested his head on her shoulder, looking at her in the mirror.

“Masturbate,” she said quickly, glancing at his reflection as she set her earrings down on the table top.

“Masturbate?” he parroted, eyes going wide, his arms loosening around her waist as his gaze fell towards her breasts and slowly drifted lower. Unconsciously, his fingers stroked along the waistband of her jeans. Would she start off slow or go straight to her clit?

“Yeah,” she said as she laced her fingers with his and arched her back, knowing exactly where he was looking. “Gets rid of the tension, you know?”

His eyes snapped up to hers.  “Well…” he said with his typical elongation of the word as his arms fell away from her and he took a step back. “That’s a very human response to it, isn’t it?” he said, tugging his ear.

Her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’ before she turned around and looked at him with a slow, mischievous, Cheshire cat grin. “Haven’t you ever?”

“I…I…” Rubbing the back of his neck, he thought about an infinite number of ways he could carefully stretch the truth, but he had promised to be more honest with her. “No,” he rasped and then cleared his throat, feeling a warm flush spread down to his toes. “Time Lords always had control over that -- that area,” he said waving his hand in a vague gesture. “If we wanted to relax, we’d calculated transformations in special relativity or --”

“Do you want to?” she interrupted as leaned back against the vanity table. Her eyes flickered towards his crotch and he heard the scratch of her jeans as she tried to subtly rub her thighs together.

Mouth dry with want, his voice came out low and rough. “No,” he said, stepping towards her, “not now. I’d much rather have you.”

+++

The Doctor shifts in his chair as he remembers how he twisted his fingers around the hairs on the nap of her neck and tugged her head back causing her to gasp. Taking advantage of her open mouth, he had pressed his lips to hers and slipped his tongue inside, tasting traces of sweet, milky tea.

Gripping the bottle tight, he arches his back as if he could still feel the bite of her nails through his shirt when he had moved his hand to cup her breast and felt the lace flower pattern of her bra underneath her shirt. He had used the rough seams of the lace to rub and roll against the hard tip of her breast; a trick he’s learned that makes her legs limp as her nails scratch down his back.

“Fuck,” he growls through clenched teeth, feeling the zipper of his trousers press against his half-hard cock. He spreads his legs a little wider and presses the cold wet bottle closer to himself with a hiss.

On the TARDIS, he had never needed to deal with these problems; there was always something interesting, some distraction beyond his doors. And if he happened to land at two a.m. on a street corner, he made sure to quickly take off again.  

Sometimes he misses the old girl and having everywhere at his fingertips. But he gained a different sort of freedom when the TARDIS disappeared from that beach. Now when he lifts Rose Tyler in his arms for hug, he can kiss her too. When she says goodnight, it isn’t to leave him in a room alone, but with a lazy sated yawn as she swings her leg over his thigh, cuddling his cock near her warm wet sex. 

He groans. The condensation from the bottle has left a wet patch on his trousers, the fabric starting to cling to him. As he shifts the bottle away from himself, trying to ease some of the pressure, he turns his head and he sees the curve of the sleigh bed. The covers are all tucked tight under the mattress and the mountain of pillows put back into place. And neatly folded on top of the goose feathered duvet is Rose’s sheer red negligée with white satin trim. The one she had worn the night before. 

His hips jerk, sloshing the water in the bottle. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, shifting himself up in the chair. The subtle movement makes him grit his teeth and his muscles in his thighs feel tense and tight. He glances at the door. Rose won’t be back for a while yet and a quick release over a cold shower seems so much more appealing.

Decision made, he sets aside the blue bottle on the coffee table and picks up the tub of cocoa butter, flipping up the lid. The rich, chocolatey scent curls around him and helps him to think of Rose, of the way she had stood in her babydoll negligée with the fire lightening her silhouette from behind.

_“Suppose to have bottoms with it.”_

_“Suppose to?” he asked, raising his left eyebrow._

_She turned a little to the side just enough so he could see a teasing glimpse of the dark curls hidden behind gossamer red. “Figured I’d save us some time.”_

With a sharp quick breath, he drops the tub back onto the table and quickly snaps open the hook and bar fastener on his trousers, only slowing down to carefully unzip himself. They had been treating this trip as their third (or maybe fifth) honeymoon, so he hadn’t bothered to bring any underwear. A habit he is grateful for especially now when he feels the need to hurry. He wriggles his trousers low enough so the teeth of his zipper won’t catch against his skin but makes sure his bum is still covered when he sits back down on the chair.

After swiping some cocoa butter from Rose’s tub and slicking up his hands, he grabs the head of his cock and immediately let’s go. Too sensitive, much too sensitive. No wonder Rose always starts off so much slower, kissing the line from his hip to his groin, even when he wishes she would just take him with her mouth.

He decides to start in a similar manner: trailing the pad of his fingers down the thin thatch of hairs on his abdomen, gently tickling his soft skin, feeling his muscles twitch as he tries to hold still.  

His mouth opens with a shuddering breath as he reaches the base of his cock and slowly circles down edge of his scrotum, cupping the weight in his palm. Rose would gently hold him, massage him with one hand while she kisses and licks the base of his cock.

_“Do you like that Doctor?”_ she often asks, looking up at him through thick, black lashes with eyes the colour of sherry.

“Yes,” he groans as he moves his hand to wrap around himself, gripping it like the handle of tea mug: firmly and lightly enough to feel the thick vein on the underside of his cock pulse.

_“Fast or slow?”_

He licks his lips and starts slow, running up and down the full length from base to tip, back and forth until he feels the slight dribble of pre-cum slip down across his knuckles. Using his thumb, he spreads the liquid around the top of his cock as the muscles of his thighs and abs begin to quiver. He wants to thrust forwards but, out of habit, resists. Using his free hand, he digs his nails into the leather of the armrest as he forces himself to stay still. Rose may be on her knees before him, but she’s the one in complete control. 

Control he gladly gives as she’d lean her head down and slide the flat of her tongue across his tip, her hot breath blowing across him, before she’d wrap her lips around to gently suck.

She’d let go of him with a wet pop, her hand still moving up and down as she’d look up at him. _“Talk to me. Tell what it is you like.”_

“I like -- I like --” He groans as he tightens his grip, moving his hand faster and faster in quick short strokes.

He likes the way her breasts bounce when she rides atop him; likes pulling her towards him so he can suck a hard bud in his mouth and listening to the sound like a moan and gasp catch in her throat; likes spinning them around so he’s on top and she’s below; likes staying still in her to feel her wet warmth and the beat of her heart where his other used to be; likes the way her muscles tighten around him when he makes her laugh and then suddenly gasp as thrusts within her.

His cock twitches and pulses as he imagines Rose beneath him, head thrown back, her voice lost to a series of yeses and more, more, more. He jerks his hand faster, squeezing near the head of his cock.

_“Come for me, Doctor.”_

“Fuck, Rose!” he shouts as warm thick ropes of cum spurt up across his shirt.

“Well, this is a fine mess to come back to.”

“Rose!” he gasps and tries to stand, but ends up clutching his head as white and black spots dance before his eyes. He groans miserably at being caught.

“Easy.” She places a hand on his shoulder as she crouches down before him. “You know you always need a breather after you’ve just come,” she teases.

“I -- I was just --” He moves his hands to quickly tuck himself back in and fasten the latch on his trousers.

“Wanking,” she says matter-of-factly, swiping a finger up along his shirt, looking down at his cum on her fingertip. “Yes, I can see that.” The red on his cheeks deepen and for a moment he feels the need to stutter out an excuse. But then she peeks up at him through her lashes and he sees her honey hazel eyes look more like a dark sherry. “We should go shower,” she says, her voice low and rough as she suddenly pushes herself up.

“What?” he croaks, his embarrassment at being caught fading in the wake of her arousal.

“Bit dusty from the cave and you -- you’re --” She licks her lips. “Yes, we should definitely shower.” She crosses her arms and pulls her shirt over her head. He lets out a low hiss when he sees her flower lace bra and then lets out a small breath of disappointment when she holds the top in front of her, looking at him almost shyly. “Unless you don’t want to…” 

He grins up at her. “Oh I’d love to come.”

Biting her bottom lip, she lifts her shirt to her mouth, trying to smother her laugh.

Realizing what she had just done, he pushes out his bottom lip. “That was just mean, Rose Tyler,” he says with a deadpan voice and then lifts his left eyebrow, looking at her with a wicked smirk.

“Oh no,” she says, slowly backing away from him, knowing exactly what that grin means.

“Run.” The only warning he gives before launching himself from the chair towards her. With a screech, she dashes towards the shower, the Doctor chasing after her, quietly thanking whatever divinity decided to let him keep some of his Time Lord abilities.    

 


End file.
